“Grandma Flo.” Annabeth was quick to interrupt. Her grandmother was rarely lucid enough to have a real conversation, but the old woman had a never-ending stream of stories to share. And not all of them had child-friendly endings. “How’s work?”
Florence sighed. “I’ve never met such a lazy group of people in my life, Hannah.”
Annabeth turned back to the cooking with a smile. Grandma Florence had dementia. On good days, Florence would call her Annabeth. But sometimes Annabeth was Hannah, Florence’s daughter and Annabeth’s mom, or Glenna, Florence’s sister.
“You do the best you can,” Annabeth encouraged her.
“I do.” Her grandmother nodded. “I do. Someone’s got to run a tight ship.”
Grandma Florence ran the assisted-living community where she lived. At least that’s what Grandma Florence thought. And the staff cooperated, within reason, to keep the feisty old woman under control. So far, it was the only facility Grandma Florence hadn’t successfully escaped. Annabeth hoped it would stay that way, or they’d have to move her again—and the next facility was two towns over.
Cody giggled, making Annabeth glance his way. He lay with the kitten on his chest. Tom seemed just as delighted, nuzzling and licking Cody’s nose.
The sheer joy in his laughter warmed her heart. God knew she didn’t want or need something or someone else to look after. Managing Cody, work and her grandmother didn’t leave her time for herself—let alone a stray fur ball. But Ryder had worked for a half hour to free the little guy from the abandoned house next door, and she couldn’t turn it out into the freezing cold.
Cody’s giggle jerked her back to the present. He pulled a colorful string of yarn across the floor, and Tom scampered after it, all ears and tail and gray fluff. Her sweet boy never asked for anything, so how could she tell him no when he’d asked to keep Tom? She didn’t. And now Cody and Tom were inseparable—unless Tom was climbing up her pants, panty hose, the curtains or the tablecloth.
There was a knock on the door. “Anyone home?” Ryder called out.
Ryder... She’d spent four weeks refusing to think about that night. Or Ryder. Or how mortified she was. She never acted without thinking things through. She could blame
either the two shots or Ryder’s kiss for her outrageous behavior. She hoped, for everyone’s sake, it was the shots.
She took a deep breath before calling out her standard “Nope.” Sure, he hadn’t dropped by for dinner since it happened, but he used to. All the time. If she was being completely honest with herself, she—and Cody—had missed him. And there was no point in getting weird about things, either. Ryder was a part of her life. She liked having him around.
She’d just have to try harder to forget every touch, scent and sound from that night...or the way she ached when she thought about his hands on her. So she just wouldn’t think about it.
“You sure?” Ryder called out.
“R-r-ryder,” Cody laughed. “Mom’s m-making ’sgetti.”
“With meatballs? Smells good,” Ryder said. Annabeth turned as he walked into her small yellow kitchen, heading straight for Florence. “Well, if it isn’t the prettiest gal I know.”
Florence waved him to her wheelchair. “Get yourself on over here and give me a kiss.”
“Try to stop me,” Ryder said, hugging the older woman’s frail body tightly and kissing her cheek.
“I was wondering when you were coming home, Michael. It’s not good to spend so much time at the office. Especially when you’ve got a pretty little wife like Hannah, here, waiting at home.” She patted Ryder’s hand. “You’re a lucky man. You need to treat her right.”
Ryder looked at Annabeth. “Don’t I know it.”
Annabeth rolled her eyes, wishing his teasing didn’t sting. He might have chosen to be alone, but she hadn’t. Life was work, work she’d always thought she’d share with someone. She wanted to treasure the same memories, the same people, with someone who knew and loved her soul. But Greg was gone. Dating wasn’t on her detailed master plan for the next five years or so.
“Cody,” she spoke to her son. “Wash up and come to the table, please.”
“Yes, Ma.” Cody put the kitten in its padded box bed. “Stay put,” he whispered, rubbing its little head before he hurried down the hall to the bathroom.
“Cats in the kitchen,” Grandma Florence said. “Never heard of such a thing.” Ryder steered her wheelchair to the table.
“You staying for dinner?” Annabeth asked him as she set another place. At this distance it was hard to miss the bandage around his wrist and the dark, greenish-yellow smudge on his brow. “What happened?” She didn’t know which was worse: fighting or bull riding. She wasn’t a fan of either, but Ryder was Ryder.
“Bull wanted me to get better acquainted with the wall of the arena. So I obliged and flew straight into the pipes.” He held up his wrist. “Just a sprain. Almost healed up now.” Ryder cocked an eyebrow, his crooked smile doing a number on her. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head over me.”
She sighed, loudly. He laughed.
“Did it h-hurt?” Cody asked, staring at his wrist.
“Nah.” Ryder shook his head. “After breaking my collarbone, this was nothing.”